“HEY! I think I found a ghost!”

Picture me standing in front of the poop bag dispenser at the dog park early Friday evening. Of course, the last clown that used it must have ripped the bag from the roll hanging inside the forest green plastic dispenser so fast that it went spinning into oblivion, leaving no trail protruding from the box. These are the same people that do this in public bathrooms. They yank on the toilet tissue so hard that after they tear off a mile or two, the rest of the roll gets sucked up into the dispenser never to be seen again. What do they think they are, Canadian lumberjacks at a log-rolling competition? I use both hands to pull the bottom tray of the dispenser out so I can thread the roll of plastic bags through the outlet so I and others can access a turd tote when we need one. As the tray detaches from the top of this contraption, I stare in horror at my hands which are now covered with so many black ants that it looks like I’m wearing winter mittens. The bottom drops onto the grass while I watch the ants begin crawling up my wrists. “HOLY SHIT!” I exclaim, as I begin frantically wiping them off me. Olive’s nose seems to be fully engrossed (and I use that term literally and figuratively) in some other environmental rot halfway across the park. She has no idea that I am being attacked by ants. This idea immediately reminds me of the old sci-fi movie, “Them,” in which an atomic explosion created monster-sized ants that crawled around the desert, snacking on tiny pint-sized humans. “GOD THAT’S REVOLTING,” I say to myself, but out loud. Olive trots back over to me either to make sure I’m still here or because she wonders if there’s something more interesting to investigate. Little does she know. Had she witnessed this, she would have been distracted for hours. “HEY OLIVE. GO CRAP WHEREVER YOU WANT. I’M NOT PICKING IT UP TONIGHT. I THINK I DESERVE A FREEBIE.”